Where no Vamp has gone before
by Mecca
Summary: Spike sees space and Spock.


Where no Vamp has gone Before  
  
  
Disclaimer: Star Trek and the Star Trek Universe belong to  
Paramount/Viacom. I am using them in a not-for-profit way, and I  
always put them back in the sandbox when I am done with them, and   
I don't lose anything or break anything, either. No copyright infringement  
is intended. The Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters are the property  
of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Productions, Kuzui   
Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television, the WB Television Network,  
and whoever else may have a hold on them. I do not mean to infringe  
upon any copyrights.   
  
  
Author's Notes: This is for Ztar, for calling me on a mistype (I swear it  
was a mistype, Ztar!) and for not stopping me. Okay? We know who's   
responsible. It was Ztar, okay? Ztar! Moreover, I've never written a  
Buffy fanfic or Star Trek one, so don't kill me…please?  
  
  
  
Spike ran his hand down the side of his Star Fleet uniform, proud of  
himself for having obtained the rank of Lieutenant 'And I only had to  
kill a couple of people to get away with it too.' He thought self-satisfied.  
"Lieutenant Summers?" He heard his assumed name called down the  
corridor, getting a small jolt of pleasure at the use of the long dead  
Slayer's name. He'd figured that him using it had Slutty the Vampire  
Slayer rolling over in her grave…not that there was anything left in her  
grave, 'cept for dust now. Been too long. Turning and snapping off a  
salute, a habit he'd gained from his times watching old army movies on   
VHS before Holograms came in.   
  
"Commander Spock" He greeted the Vulcan.   
  
"Greetings, Lieutenant. Congradulations are due."  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
"Off to celebrate with a drink?" Spock questioned almost…wistfully?  
As he had been about to, a double of O+ that for some reason the food  
sythesiser had yet to have a problem with, guarenteeing Spike's  
vampiric anonymity, Spike hesitated. This might be his moment. He'd  
been fanta-considering, the possibilities of a liason with the, well, damn  
it all, attractive first officer. It had been a bit too long for him without a  
partner, and he had a feeling it had been a while for Spock too. He  
knew that Spock was loved on board ship, of course. He couldn't have  
been on board for six months without noticing, but it seemed to always  
be in that completely non-sexual intense way only young pseudo-  
intellectual girls can.   
  
Not that, as he understood it, Spock needed to have sex, he was  
rumoured not to even want to have sex for seven years. Well, posh  
and nonsense. No man, no matter what species or race wanted to go  
for seven years without sex. No way. And if this was his opportunity,   
well, he could hardly throw it away, now could he?  
  
"Hadn't been planning on it, sir, but if you'd like to join me…" he invited,  
almost hoping to be turned down, now that he'd asked. 'What kinda  
Vamp am I anyway?' he wondered to himself, appalled at his lack of   
courage. He was over four centuries old! Idly he wondered what kind  
of vampire Spock would make, grimacing inwardly at the imagined taste  
of green blood.  
  
"Do you play chess, Lieutenant?" Jolted out of his reverie by the change  
of subject, Spike straightened from the positioned he'd taken lounging  
against the wall, and answered, voice accented in his surprise.   
  
"Yes, sir, I do. Haven't for a while though."  
  
Hadn't since that all night Chess game with old Rupert, what, over  
three centuries ago? Oh well. He missed the shrewd glance directed  
at him by Spock as he registered both the accent and the place of   
origin that it hailed from, contrasting with the place of birth given by  
this young, Spock licked his lips, officer.   
"Well, then, may I challenge you to a game then, Lieutenant?" Spock   
asked, already shepherding the vampire toward Spock's rooms with  
a rare touch, on his elbow.   
Noticing the touch and thinking that maybe his fanta- considerations,   
damnit! weren't as impossible as he'd thought.   
Talking amiably along the way, once the door to his quarters were  
closed Spock was a different man. Advancing on Spike who   
entertained the delighted thought that this was going to be easier than  
he thought, Spock soon cornered the younger appearing man. "Well,   
Summers. You have a lot of explaining to do."  
'Or maybe not.' Spike thought, his hopes sinking to his stomach.   
"What do you mean, sir?" He questioned, eyes wide as possible for  
the best innocent look. Spock showed no signs of relenting. 'damn,   
doesn't work on Vulcans.' He mentally catalogued.   
  
"You know perfectly well what I mean, Summers. You're eating the   
ship's transfusion supply! Don't you know that there's an artificial  
supply that works just as well? He asked, pulling a glass out of the   
food synthesiser filled with red liquid. "you poor, dear, sick, perverted,  
twisted vamp" Spock tsked.   
  
"I'm a poor, dear, sick perverted, twisted vamp?" Spike questioned,  
not willing to let the game be up. He liked Star Fleet!  
  
"Of course, " Spock said turning back to the Food synthesiser,  
removing another glass. He turned around and vamped out.  
"Takes one to know one."  
  
"Wha- Spock?" He shook his head, clearing it. "What the fuck is  
this, waking a man up while he's drowsing, Bloody uncivil if you ask  
me."  
"Well, one, I didn't ask you" Xander replied turning off the TV, "and   
two, you were yelling out Spock, and your Vulcan fantasy are none   
of my business and Please, oh please, keep it that way. No more Star  
Trek Marathons for you, young man."  



End file.
